


Transcending Bonds

by SSAerial



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015), The Time Traveler's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Time Traveler's Wife, Gaby is an awesome handler, Gen, Illya hurt/comfort, Non-linear time travel, Not sure if I'm getting the characters right, Post-Movie(s), This is all THRUSH's fault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 13:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4607919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SSAerial/pseuds/SSAerial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where Illya knew Napoleon Solo ever since he was ten, growing up dealing with the man’s exasperating charm and light fingers that itch to steal beautiful things but instead settles for swiping Illya’s father’s watch at every opportunity. The fixation with the watch never made sense to Illya but, well, nothing Napoleon did ever seemed to make any logical sense. After all, what else would you expect from a time traveler?</p><p>(Inspired by The Time Traveler’s Wife. Except, nobody is anyone’s wife and it’s not really a romance. And Gaby is their handler and think they’re both idiots. And this is all THRUSH’s fault. Really.)</p><p>(DISCONTINUED)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transcending Bonds

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I just watched The Man from UNCLE and LOVED EVERY DAMN MINUTE OF IT. I’ve known about this show since 8th grade and really loved the characters. I’ve been waiting for this movie all summer. Literally. Anyways, I like how they made Illya and Napoleon different from their past counterparts and the background stories are great. And Gaby was an awesome addition to the cast. So yeah, I wanted to delve into their friendship, mess with it, just to see if I can. And I always wanted to try The Time Traveler’s Wife in a friendship viewpoint (plus, I’m seriously terrible at writing romance. Like, really really bad). So I hope I do right by these characters! Please enjoy!

Ten years old Illya Kuryakin slipped out of the party, wanting to escape the confines of the laughing room where old men thought themselves better than him with their patronizing smiles and the way they pat his head as if he was some dog they were bestowing glory to by their mere touch.

Needless to say, Illya was not impressed.

He knew how important his father was and that he was in favor of Comrade Stalin, which was why it was necessary to deal with such officers and generals. He understood it. It didn’t mean he had to like it.

So at first chance he got, Illya escaped the confines of the house and stealthily went out the back door. It was easy with his small size and quick feet. None of the cooks spared him a glance, probably frantic by the idea of disappointing such important guests.

He did make sure to swipe a jacket from the coat rack before leaving. Russian or not, he wasn’t invincible against the cold. Thankfully, it wasn’t snowing tonight, the snow a little shallower than usual under his boots.

Shutting the door behind him quietly, he walked off the porch and simply stood there in the clearing like a lone phantom in the winter wonderland. He looked up to the midnight sky and closed his eyes, breathing in the brisk, chilling air that was free from cigar smoke and fine wine that smelled repugnant to his young nose.

It was calming and familiar. He was at home in the cold, whiteness greeting him like an old friend and nobody looking at him like he was a chess piece to be used or dismissed as unimportant in the large scheme of things. It made him grit his teeth when he bore the speculative stares, his mother always there expertly pulling attention away from him and consoling him afterwards with pastilas that were foam in the mouth. Her eyes would crinkle and she would always say _“Calm Illya.”_ in a soothing tone that always appeased his burning temper.

Suddenly, a great _‘oomph!’_ met his ears that snapped him out of tranquility.

Snapping his eyes open in alarm, he was bewildered and panicked when a perplexing sight met his eyes.

Right in front of him was a raven haired man, a complete stranger to Illya’s knowledge, a disturbing thought seeing how he was always careful to know who his father’s friends were in order not to offend anyone. The man was well tailored in a brand he didn’t recognize, though it was ruined by the splotch of red that was growing on the man’s shoulder. Illya’s alarm grew when he realized it was blood, if the way the man clenched onto the injured shoulder said anything. And from the looks of it, it looked bad.

Illya’s eyes darted across the courtyard, trying to see how the man possibly could’ve gotten here without him knowing. He knew he hadn’t been _that_ lost in thought. From the looks of it though, the man had somehow gotten over the fence and done it. With an injured arm no less.

Then, the man looked up. Illya went cold when recognition flashed in those bright blue eyes before the man winced, blood dripping onto the once clear snow.

 _“Well.”_ Illya startled at the rough Russian that rolled off the clearly foreign man’s tongue. _“This is a bit embarrassing.”_

The man’s tone was somewhat sheepish, as if he had been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. It instantly made Illya guarded, whole body tensing in case he needed to break into a run towards the door behind him.

 _“Who are you?”_ Illya demanded, trying not to sound as scared as he felt. Much to Illya’s confounded wariness, the man’s eyes widened with something close to surprise before some realization seemed to strike him like lightning. The man closed his eyes and sighed, shoulders slumping and a rueful smile tugging at the end of his mouth.

 _“Of all the ways to meet.”_ The man muttered out to a mystified Illya who was beginning to think there was something mentally wrong with the man. The raven male straightened his back as much as he seemed he was able and smiled. It was a smile Illya wasn’t used to, knowing and infuriatingly smug that made him want to knock his teeth out.

 _“Napoleon Solo, at your service.”_ The man gave a graceful bow that shouldn’t be possible with his injury. _“Nice to meet you Illya.”_

 _“How do you know my name?”_ he asked warily, feet moving inch by inch, edging towards the door. He knew he could shout for help, but he’ll probably be dead by the time he does. The older man’s longer strides would surely catch up to him before he could make it. And a hostage situation was something he wanted to avoid. The humiliation his father would have to face for his own son’s stupidity would be damaging.

So he would have to make a break for it or buy time until someone noticed he was missing. He would bet anything that it would be his mother.

Napoleon grinned, looking self-assured and amused. _“Because I’m from the future.”_

The man’s claim was so absurd that Illya couldn’t help but halt in his tracks, feet stopping as he stared incredulously at this clearly senseless man.

 _“You’re insane.”_ Illya stated. Solo shook his head, not a strand of black hair falling from the movement.

_“Afraid not. 1963, to be more exact.”_

The man was positively cheerful.

 _“If that’s so, shouldn’t you not be telling me that?”_ Illya couldn’t help but retort before biting his tongue. He shouldn’t encourage the strange man’s delusions.

To Illya’s bemusement, Napoleon – and really, what kind of name was _Napoleon?_ It was ridiculously pretentious. Besides, why would anyone name their son after a short Frenchman who ended up exiled and disgraced in the end? – actually looked _delighted_ by his response, as if he just said some great inside joke.

 _“_ You’re _the one who told me to. I’m just following orders.”_

Somehow, Illya got the feeling Napoleon usually wasn’t very good at that.

Then, the crazy man’s words caught up to him.

 _“Me. From the future.”_ Illya said flatly. _“Prove it.”_

For the first time since the man appeared, Napoleon’s good humor seemed to die, face shuttering as if steeling himself for an explosion. His face was solemn and colder than Siberian winters and it made Illya shiver in the face of it. Illya chided at himself for unconsciously falling into the man’s effortless way of making him feel at ease, despite all his suspicions and fear. It was a terrifying ability.

 _“In seven months’ time, your father will be arrested by Stalin.”_ Napoleon dropped the bombshell on him with a cool voice, as if he was listing facts from some piece of meaningless paperwork that didn’t mean anything to him. _“When the police comes to your house, your father will give you his father’s watch and tell you to keep an eye on it for him until he gets back for questioning. You... well, you never end up giving it back-”_

 _“You’re lying!”_ Illya shouted, voice echoing into the night and he watched as Napoleon snapped his jaw shut tightly, eyes piercing and unreadable. Distantly, at the back of his mind, Illya knew his scream was going to catch his parents’ attention in the house but he didn’t care. What this... this _liar_ was saying was treasonous, threatening. _“My father is a good man! Stalin would have no reason to arrest him.”_

The very thought was petrifying. His mother and he would have nowhere to go. None of their immediate family members would ever take them in, whether out of shame or distaste, he didn’t want to know.

Something flickered in Napoleon’s cerulean eyes, too quick in passing to identify for most. Illya, however, was observant. There was a certain guilt there that seemed to weigh heavily on the foreigner.

The man dug his hand into his pocket, causing Illya to tense at the action. Maybe it was a gun, to silence him before everyone arrived from his shouting. Or a knife to cut his throat, or-

Napoleon threw something in the air, the object soaring towards Illya. Without thinking, Illya automatically caught the object into his hands and he immediately froze when he saw what it was.

There, clear as day, was his father’s watch. Basic and simple and completely unmistakable. It even had his grandfather’s carved initials onto the back of the watch’s head.

Illya darted his eyes up in complete shock, Napoleon watching him grimly. Illya swallowed hard.

 _“How...”_ he just saw this watch fifteen minutes ago on his father’s wrist. He never took it off at social settings since he always kept the time to know when the celebration should end. Napoleon shrugged.

_“You let me borrow it for this.”_

_“This?”_

Napoleon’s eyes met his with glinting brilliancy.

 _“To convince you.”_ Napoleon titled his head and held out a hand, making ‘give me’ motions with his fingers. _“Now would you mind so terribly in giving it back? You’d probably kill me if I lost it.”_ Napoleon paused and then shook his head, as if realizing how surreal that sentence was.

Illya hesitated for a moment but threw it back, Napoleon expertly catching it one-handedly, face not even wincing from the lack of pressure on the wound. Illya couldn’t help the spike of annoyance he felt at that. The man made it look so _easy_.

As if reading his thoughts, Napoleon gave an irritating smile and wink.

And that was all Napoleon had time to do before the door burst open behind him, startling Illya into turning around to face whoever was interrupting them.

It was one of the cooks, face flushed and relieved when she caught sight of him.

 _“Mr. Kuryakin! I just heard a scream outside. Are you alright sir?”_ she looked so concerned that Illya automatically replied at the sight of it.

 _“I’m fine. I was just-”_ he started to turn back around and nearly gaped when he realized no one was there. There wasn’t one hint or sign of the raven haired man anywhere. His eyes swept the scene. The blood marks were gone, though the place the man was originally standing seemed rumpled for some reason, causing him to narrow his eyes suspiciously.

 _“Sir?”_ the woman’s voice was hesitant and snapped Illya out of his reverie. He gave a curt nod to her.

_“I’m fine. I’ll be right in. Just give me a minute.”_

The woman wavered but with no choice but to listen, she stayed where she was as Illya stalked towards the patch of uneven snow. Crouching, making sure his body was blocking the view, Illya carefully dug through the snow and saw that the pinkish snow had been kicked over, probably hastily in the split second the cook came. In a flash, Illya recalled how the man had minutely fidgeted at the end while giving that aggravating smile, as if he knew he wasn’t going to get caught. Despite himself, Illya couldn’t help but feel impressed by the man’s quick thinking and reflexes.

_“Sir?”_

Illya carefully piled the snow over the spot in an indiscriminating way and stood up. The angry part of him wanted to tell his parents, his father, what had just transpired. How the man had accused his father of crimes Illya couldn’t imagine from lack of details made his blood boil with anger. The other logical part of him was what held him back. Telling people he just met a man who claimed he was from the future and apparently knew him was just asking to be put in an asylum, even though he knew for certain now there was no way the man could’ve snuck his way into and out of the backyard without leaving any evidence.

So Illya went back in, careful in not reacting when he saw that his father was wearing his watch and ignoring his mother’s concerned questions. He went to his room, excusing himself to the curious guests before doing so, and fell exhausted on his bed. Somehow though, he just knew in his gut that this was only just the beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> Please review on the way out.
> 
> (EDIT: Well, I'm sure a lot of people are going to kill me for this, but I am officially discontinuing this story. I'm putting it on complete and am not going to continue writing this story. I hope you all can understand and accept this decision and thank you so much for following and being so patient with this story. I hope you continue to read my future works and wish you all good day) **Tips hat**


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